I'm tpo tired to think of a title right now sorry
by IFandomTooMuch
Summary: Sherlocks somewhat sick and John is tired of it


_it's like 11pm for me and I'm super tirer and can't sleep, so I'm realy bored, so i wrotte this. Enjoy review and all that._

"How're you feeling?" I asked the famed detective tentatively.

The night before we had been chasing down the renowned "Baustelle" thief, as he had taken to calling himself. He was a 27 year old German brought up in a family grown on a thieving lifestyle. Only natural he be pulled into it too. And, as his burglar name translated would suggest, he focused on stealing from Building Sites. His actual name, of course, is Simon Theckla.

We managed to catch him in the end. Or rather, I did, after Sherlock had taken an unwilling dive to the river 75ft below. Not that high, all things considered. But Sherlock had still managed to get it worse than any normal human might.

Considering it had been around 10 degrees and the water must've been a terrible amount lower than that, it was no surprise to find Sherlock fifteen minutes later, unconscious and with hypothermia starting to set in. That much was simple enough, but in the fall he'd also busted a few ribs. Not exactly unheard of, and the river was shallow with many rocks, so quite plausible really.

But the most concerning part would have to be his leg. Somehow or other he'd managed to nearly tear his bloody leg right off. The cold had probably been a damn helpful paramedic for that wound when it had first torn open.

Now all the detective was doing was hanging around in misery, two dressing gowns on, tea between shaky hands and a horrible scowl permanently stained on his lips since completely waking up.

"My body is in perfect working order, if that's what you mean" He answered gruffly.

I held back my sigh and refused to let my eyes roll as they so wanted "Well that's not what I meant"

Sherlock sighed, simultaneously rolling his glazed eyes "My head aches, my ribs hurt, I still feel cold and I can't do much more than hobble and Lestrade is refusing to give me a case, why I'm absolutely fine, John"

I let my eyes do as they wished this time "Well of course he isn't going to give you a case. You didn't exactly have some run-of-the-mill cat-and-mouse-game last night. You were in pretty bad shape, and I'm sorry, but humans don't just heal overnight. Not even if they are the World's only Consulting Detective"

I earned a light smile from that one "Yes, well that's simply not fair I say"

"Need anything then? Cause I am actually a doctor, if you forgot"

"No"

"Sherlock" I pressed.

"No"

I ran my eyes over him, searching for a sign he was lying, or fatigued, or tense.

He was definitely lying about not needing anything.

"Headache's killing you, isn't it?" I bit my bottom lip, mostly so I wouldn't lash out at him for being such a stupid cock.

His expression didn't waver.

"You bloody idiot" I remarked, standing and heading toward the bathroom.

"I told you, I'm fine!" The genius called out to me even as I was pulling out the aspirin "I don't need any streams of random chemicals to clear up a sore head, honestly"

"Take the damn stream of random chemicals anyway. Do it- and I'll completely leave you alone until tomorrow"

Sherlock sighed and I read his expression "Tomorrow is in six hours. Not nearly long enough. But if it ends my suffering in the moment, it'll have to do"

He didn't say anything until I started up again "Do we have a deal, then?"

" _F_ ine" He acquiesced finally, reaching for the bottle containing the pills "There, happy?" He demanded.

"Very" I smiled.

It took five minutes for the effects to kick in, and then Sherlock slipped straight into dreamland.

"Whoops. Guess that wasn't the right bottle, hm?" I muttered to his less-than -awares person as I approached.

In the whole duration of locating and tracking Simon, Sherlock hadn't even tried to sleep. His hypothermic nap was the best thing he got all week. So I was not at all sorry for tricking him into it.

I probably would be by tomorrow, if he realized at any point what I'd actually done.

I left that thought alone and fetched a blanket to throw over him. At least now he'd be more likely to think he had just fallen asleep. And I'd be more likely to live for another day.


End file.
